1 66 The Amateur Poacher 



the watery places the dry sedges of last year still 

 stand as they grew. They are supported by the 

 bushes beside the meadow ditch where it widens to 

 join the brook, and the water it brings down from the 

 furrows scarcely moves through the belt of willow 

 lining the larger stream. As the soft west wind runs 

 along the hedge it draws a sigh from the dead dry 

 stalks and leaves that will no more feel the rising sap. 



By the wet furrows the ground has still a brownish 

 tint, for there the floods lingered and discoloured the 

 grass. Near the ditch pointed flags are springing up, 

 and the thick stems of the marsh marigold. From 

 bunches of dark green leaves slender stalks arise and 

 bear the golden petals of the marsh buttercups, the 

 lesser celandine. If the wind blows cold and rainy 

 they will close, and open again to the sunshine. 



At the outside of the withies, where the earth is 

 drier, stand tall horse-chestnut trees, aspen, and beech. 

 The leaflets of the horse-chestnut are already opening ; 

 but on the ground, half-hidden under beech leaves 

 not yet decayed, and sycamore leaves reduced to im- 

 perfect grey skeletons, there lies a chestnut shell. It 

 is sodden, and has lost its original green — the prickles, 

 too, have decayed and disappeared ; yet at a touch it 

 falls apart, and discloses two chestnuts, still of a rich, 

 deep polished brown. 



